


One Moment at a Time

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-24
Updated: 2011-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-18 22:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6.18 coda – Castiel and Dean talk, and gifts are given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Moment at a Time

He should have left hours ago. Balthazar has been calling for him steadily since Castiel awoke, and Castiel knows he needs to find an explanation for Rachel's death and his own delayed return that his friend will accept. He needs to find someone to replace Rachel – who was all but irreplaceable, no matter her faults – as quickly as possible. And then he needs to get back to planning and strategizing and commanding and fighting. No rest for the weary when in the midst of a war.

And yet, instead of doing what he knows he must, he's lying on a thin cot in Bobby's library, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Not sleeping, of course…only resting enough to try and gather his strength. He's healed now, at least – Bobby's soul did more to repair his wound in moments than his own grace could have done in days. But the energy he'd gained back thanks to Bobby had been used almost immediately bringing the Winchesters home, and he's just as exhausted now as he was upon first waking in the living room. Possibly more.

So when Bobby had shoved him in the direction of the library and told him to 'get some damn rest, y'idgit', Castiel had gone without a word, both surprised and touched to know that he'd somehow earned the hunter's own gruff brand of friendship and compassion without being aware it.

Of course, all that means is that he has one more person to cast judgment on him once his deceptions are uncovered. And they will be, eventually. Of that, Castiel has no doubt.

But for now, he just needs a moment or two. Just a few precious human seconds to forget who he's trying to be, and what he's trying to do, and why he's trying to do it. Every time he returns to the battlefront, he dons his armor the same way Dean donned that serape – like it's a costume. Like he's playing dress-up, trying to fit into a world where he doesn't belong.

Here, for just this moment, he can be nothing more or less than _Castiel_.

He feels Dean before he hears him, the warmth of the hunter's soul always a balm to Castiel's battered grace, and he opens his eyes just as Dean enters the library. Smiles when he sees that Dean is back in his own clothes – blue jeans and a navy shirt – but still wearing the wide-brimmed hat from his recent travels.

"Hey," Dean says, sounding strangely awkward. He's fiddling with something that glints gold in the dim lighting, his hands as restless as his thoughts. "Didn't think you'd still be here."

Castiel knows better than to pry, has long since learned not to breach certain boundaries Dean has in place for his own reasons, but he can't help wondering what has Dean so anxious. He sits up, folding his hands in his lap as he swings his legs over the edge of the cot. "I shouldn't stay much longer," he admits. "But I did appreciate the chance to rest." For all the good it's done him. Even now, the idea of flying home has his wings twitching in horror. It's a long way to go, and he's so tired…

Dean nods, fidgeting for a moment before he finally takes a seat gingerly on the cot beside Castiel. The hat is removed and placed off to the side, and then Castiel can see the green of Dean's eyes when he looks at him. They're filled with sympathy that makes Castiel's grace constrict painfully. "So, listen, Bobby told us about your lieutenant. Rachel, right? And I just…well, I'm sorry, man. Really."

Castiel swallows hard at the thought of the battle-hardened angel who'd fought by his side without question for so long. "I appreciate it, Dean," he murmurs. He shifts, moving to stand and face the knowledge that he needs to return, but Dean's hand on his arm stops him.

"Look, there's something else," Dean says. He's staring down at the floor as he moves his hand away, but it's obvious each and every word is meant for Castiel when he continues. "I didn't like her, and I won't lie about it. But the stuff she said before, to me and Sam… Well, she wasn't wrong." Slowly, he lifts his gaze back to meet Castiel's. "She managed to call us petty and entitled before you showed up, and I can imagine what the rest of it woulda been. And she wasn't wrong, Cas. And I need to apologize, for that."

"Dean –" Castiel starts, but the hunter is on a roll now, bulldozing over whatever it is Castiel would try to say.

"We get so caught up in our own crap, and you've told us over and over that you have shit going on upstairs you need to deal with, and we ignore it because we can't see it. Me especially. And I'm sorry." Dean's mouth twists, and he looks genuinely upset with himself, and all Castiel wants is to ease that expression because Dean is not the one in the wrong here. Dean is not the only one who's been taking advantage of people and situations. Before he can even begin to try and say as much, Dean soldiers determinedly on. "With all the crap you have going on, and all the dicks you already can't trust, you should at least be able to depend on your damn friends. Your _real_ friends. Which…y'know, which we are."

"I know." Castiel's voice drags over the two words, something caught in his throat that makes it hard to speak.

"Anyway, I just…thought I should tell you." Dean looks down again, back to playing with the object in his hands. This close, Castiel can see that it's the badge that had been pinned to Dean's jacket upon his return. The one that reads _sheriff_ in large blocky lettering.

"Thank you," Castiel says, so quietly that if Dean weren't right next to him, Castiel isn't sure he'd be able to hear at all. He's suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to make his own apologies, lay some of his own burdens to rest. He can't, of course. Can't take the chance that Dean would try to stop him, because Dean may be the only one who _could_ , with nothing more than a word. But more than anything, right at this moment, Castiel wants to.

"Cas?" Dean's tone is questioning, and when Castiel blinks and looks back at him, Dean's head is tilted, his expression concerned. "Everything okay? You kinda spaced out on me there."

"I…" His fists clench in his lap, and he swallows hard. "I feel as though I am the one who should apologize, but I…" Never before has human language seemed _this_ limited. "Dean, some of the choices I've made are not…"

"Hey, hey." Dean reaches over, grips Castiel's shoulder hard enough to leave bruises if he were human. It grounds Castiel. "Cas, man, you and me? We're cool. And whatever's going on in this war of yours… Well, you know what you're up against better than I do. Whatever you're doing is to help you kick Raphael's ass, right?"

Castiel hesitates, so many lies and half-truths already told sitting in his gut like acid. "Yes," he whispers, honestly. "But Dean –"

"Then that's what matters," Dean cuts in firmly.

Castiel wonders if his expression looks half as tortured as he feels. He doesn't know how Dean can be so accepting, how he can just let things go at that, without ever knowing or questioning the things Castiel has done in his quest for victory over his brother.

"Look," Dean says, his voice rough and still somehow soothing. "You're at war. The rules change. You do what you have to to get the job done, make as few sacrifices as possible. Sometimes, that's _all_ you can do." He shakes his head, his hand falling from Castiel's shoulder to his own thigh, digging into his leg as his eyes go hard and pained. "You think me and Sam are proud of every decision we made during the apocalypse? Even after the demon deals, and the blood-sucking, and all the crap we put each other through…" He takes a breath, refocuses on Castiel. "The point is, mistakes happen. No one is perfect. But when it comes down to it, your soldiers? They trust your judgment, just like I do. _I trust you_ , Cas."

It's both the spoken and the unspoken that brings the tears rushing to Castiel's eyes. He bows his head and blinks them away before Dean sees, but can still feel them burning at the corners. He remembers life before Dean, when emotions were such an alien concept. Sometimes, rarely but _sometimes_ , he wishes he could go back to that, learn to block them all over again. Now, oddly, is not one of those times. He is grateful, so impossibly grateful for this, and he wants to be able to feel every moment of it. Dean may still change his mind, when he inevitably learns the truth, but for now… For now, Castiel will choose to have faith. It's been a long time since he's had the luxury. "Thank you," he tells Dean again. It's not enough, not nearly what he wishes he could express, but Dean seems to get it, ducking his head to hide a sheepish-looking half-smile.

"S'what friends are for," he replies.

The words spark a feeling of deep joy inside Castiel, and it's enough. It gives him the boost he needs to stand and stretch. "I really must go," he says regretfully.

Dean nods, looking unsurprised. "Two quick things first?" he asks, standing as well. Castiel tilts his head in curiosity, and the hunter quirks a smile, holding out his hand. The badge glints up at Castiel, lamplight reflecting off the dulled metal. Dean shrugs a little. "I know you won't really be wearing it, wherever you go when you're up there fighting," he says as he reaches over and affixes the oddly-shaped star to Castiel's jacket, "but, well, it's the thought that counts, right? _Sheriff?_ "

Castiel feels warm all over, one hand reaching up to press against the badge, the weight of it already a sort of comfort, a reminder that he is not truly as alone as he sometimes feels. He hopes the smile he's unaccustomed to wearing conveys half of that to Dean. "And the second thing?" he wonders softly.

There's a hesitation, Dean taking a breath and releasing it slowly in a way Castiel doesn't think he likes. "The…human soul thing. Where it powers you up if you touch it. That work all the time?"

Castiel blinks. "If it is something offered willingly, yes. Souls hold much power, more than many angels are aware of." He wants to say more, the words poised on the tip of his tongue, but he holds them back. _Not yet_ , he tells himself. _Not yet, but soon._

"Okay." Dean takes another breath. "Okay then, I think you should. Least that way I know you'll get back okay. Right now, you don't look fit to go half a round with a Care Bear, let alone beam yourself back to your army and still be in fighting shape to face any other angels."

It takes Castiel an embarrassingly long time to process what Dean's saying, and when he finally does, his eyes widen. "Dean, _no_ ," he says emphatically. "What you're offering is –"

"My choice." Dean's wearing his most stubborn look. "You need it, and I _trust_ you. You're not gonna hurt me."

"Of course it's going to hurt. More than you can imagine." Castiel hasn't heard his voice sound that weak in a long time. "Dean, you can't –"

"Do it." Dean's eyes glint determinedly. "Please, Cas."

Temptation wars with revulsion inside him. On the one hand, every movement right now is almost physically painful. The energy he would gain from even the briefest contact would be immense. Would get him home, certainly, and more. On the other hand, it's the one thing he swore he would never do. Because it's _Dean_ , because there's no soul on earth or in Heaven he could connect with half so easily, and because the temptation to do so has always been far too powerful.

Castiel takes a single step forward, unable to stop himself. His hands fist again as he forces himself not to go any further. "I cannot do this…" But it sounds weak to his own ears, and Dean clearly isn't listening anyway, because he's already sitting back on the cot and removing his belt. Castiel's hand darts out to stop him. "You won't need that," he says faintly.

"You said –"

"The pain you experience will not be physical." Castiel's eyes close for a moment as he takes a breath he shouldn't need. Is he really going to do this? "I've already cradled your soul in my grace, Dean, and I remade your body myself. I know you more intimately than I know anyone else in your world or mine." Dean's face flushes at that, but Castiel ignores it as he continues. "If I touch your soul, and it recognizes me, you may experience…flashbacks."

"Of Hell," Dean clarifies, but he already knows. It's clear in the way his eyes go shuttered.

"Yes."

"You're not going to make me change my mind with that." Dean rolls his eyes. "Now get your ass over here and recharge your batteries already."

Still hesitant, Castiel allows himself to skim the surface of Dean's thoughts. Finds only a bit of curiosity and nerves, calm purpose, and a deep well of friendship. Castiel has always known that Dean would give much for those he loves. He never realized he was on that very small list, and the thought moves him deeply. "Are you sure?" he finally asks.

Dean gives him a very bland look in return, and in any other circumstances, it would almost be enough to make Castiel smile.

"You know I've forgiven you. There's no need for –"

"Oh, for the love of fucking _God_ ," Dean huffs, ignoring Castiel's flinch. "I swear if you don't get over here right the fuck now, I'm gonna –"

Castiel moves lightning quick, is reaching for Dean's soul before the hunter can finish his sentence. Dean gasps sharply at the first caress, his eyes falling closed and mouth falling open, neck arching as his soul rises to meet Castiel's grace, embracing it like an old friend.

And oh, _oh_ , Castiel had forgotten this…the sensation of _this soul_ , the feel of it against his own true form. The way they once melded together so perfectly, they way the world fell apart and came together every time they began to blend. _Dean_ , he sings, unable to resist, and for the first time, the hunter's ears don't bleed at his true voice, and there's an answering call from his own soul.

_Cas…Castiel…_

_I remember…_

Alarmed, Castiel moves to withdraw, but Dean soothes him, draws him back almost immediately. _No_ , he says, and it's both his body and his soul speaking now. It should sound grating to Castiel's sensitive hearing, but instead it sounds like _home_.

 _No,_ Dean says again. _I remember being **saved**._

Oh… Castiel's free hand comes up, curls around Dean's neck as he bends to press his forehead to the hunter's. He is beyond the ability to form words in _any_ language, but Dean's soul is warm and understanding as it embraces Castiel's grace, and for an endless, perfect moment, there is nothing in the universe except the two of them. Castiel wishes he could hold onto it forever, and it's that thought that finally makes him pull away gently.

Dean takes a few deep breaths before he finally opens his eyes and meets Castiel's unflinchingly. "Wow," he says succinctly.

The laugh bubbles out of Castiel, and the amazement Dean answers with only makes him that much more amused. He feels… _light_. And rested. Strong. And more hopeful than he's felt since this war began. Dean's soul has worked miracles upon him, and he thinks he would offer his thanks in prayer right here and now, if it wouldn't make Dean run screaming for the hills. Instead, he bends down again, presses the lightest of kisses to Dean's brow. " _Thank you_ ," he whispers, and the words _still_ aren't enough, but Castiel will find a way to repay this someday. He knows Dean doesn't want or expect it, but he _will_.

"You really should go, huh?" Dean gives him a small grin, his eyes sparkling.

"Yes," Castiel replies, because he truly has been away for _far_ too long now.

"You'll be back, when we go after Eve?" Dean asks. Hopeful, but no longer willing to simply assume.

"Pray for me. I will come," Castiel promises. He takes one last long look at his friend, and finally departs with the image of Dean's warm smile seared into his memory.

~

Dean does nothing but sit and breathe for a long time, until the smell of Bobby's chili is enough to finally lure him out of his own head and into the kitchen. Before he leaves, he goes to pick up his hat, frowns a little when he sees the gold badge lying on top. He picks it up, about to yell an angry prayer at Castiel for leaving it behind, when he realizes it's not the same one he gave the angel. It's a little smaller, a little more careworn. And scrawled across it is the word _deputy_ in the same style font as the sheriff badge.

To either side of the word, there is an engraved depiction of wings.

At dinner, he ignores the looks Bobby and Sam exchange when they see it proudly pinned to his shirt. He simply grins around his chili and spends the rest of the evening remembering Castiel's smile.


End file.
